


A Tall Blonde Roast,  Please

by ohgoodnesswhatdo



Category: Twittibal
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, Dentley - Freeform, Multi, twittibal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgoodnesswhatdo/pseuds/ohgoodnesswhatdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bentley Lecter is CEO of his very own luxury car manufacturer and he's not afraid to spend every dollar he has on everything he wants, at the cost of his company. His dream of money and power  goes downhill until he meets Dodger, a handsome, clever barista who wakes him up with a fresh, hot cup of love...and a reality check.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tall Blonde Roast,  Please

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Saw You In Class](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113158) by [nevergonnaquitit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevergonnaquitit/pseuds/nevergonnaquitit). 



> Prequel to Saw You In Class
> 
> ...Right? Prequel?
> 
> No Dentley in this chapter! SORRY! Next chapter.
> 
> Bentley Lecter @HanniVroom  
> Wendy Lecter @WendyLecter  
> Saul Lecter @TheLecterSaw  
> Knife Lecter @LectersKnife
> 
> Sorry if none of this makes sense. I'm not at my best right now, but I've wanted to do this for a long time now.

As a teen, Bentley Lecter knew nothing but opulence and luxury in everything he did, see, and own. He was accustomed to getting everything he wanted, usually because of his charm, and attitude or not, Bentley was quite charming. Soft, jet-black hair, brilliant golden eyes, soft lips, tall, lean, and perfect teeth. His voice was smooth and alluring, to top it off. Boy and girls flocked to him and hung on every word he spoke.

 He knew he was blessed. His entire family was beautiful and rich, but he was better than everyone and everyone knew it, but he wasn’t going to rub it in. He wasn’t that rude ( he was borderline rude), and he had been raised to be very careful about rudeness, thanks to his similarly well-to-do father.

Hannibal Lecter made sure that his children were always provided for. The celebrity dietician was very generous with his family. Bentley and his siblings all attended the Baltimore State School for the Academically Gifted (for those rich enough, really. The academic gifts of a few students were questionable but their income was undeniable).

Four years of business, marketing, engineer and car shop classes, and Bentley was able to pursue his dream of becoming the CEO of a luxury car company. Eight more years of working in dealerships and offices of multiple manufacturers ( he didn’t need a job for the money, but it was time he became self-sufficient to please his father and allow Hannibal’s focus and money to shift more on his younger siblings), he founded Bentley Motors, a top-of-the-line luxury car company that created custom-fitted cars to their drivers at a very high price.

 After reality slapped him in his pretty little face and he had to work under others for once, his “holier-than-thou” attitude had significantly dulled and morphed into “I’m-better-because-I-worked-hard” attitude, which wasn’t quite an improvement, but was still something.

 That did not mean that he never got his hands dirty or continued to get them dirty. Though the clean suits and the clean offices and the glossy shoes and glossy desks were delightful to the average Lecter boy, the newest CEO on the automobile market-block always took the time to work alongside the factory workers. He knew how to stitch leather, how to paint frames and bodies. He loved taking apart defect parts and finding out exactly what the problem was and finding ways to fix it.

Bentley adored throwing parties for his foreign material import CEOs, and they could never refuse that voice on the phone, “How does dinner and a show sound, my friend?”

His parties were the talk of every manufacturer. Rolls-Royce and Volkswagen and Hyundai and Nissan and Dodge were lucky to be invited. Bentley thought it was fun to invite them all for once party, then only one for the next, one other for the next. He nearly had a party every month.

These parties were beyond all-out. Eight-foot ice sculptures, nearly full-sized orchestras, five-course-meals, dancing, chandeliers, waiters and waitresses, a full bar, everything. Sixty-nine percent of each Bentley-brand car’s sale went to his parties and personal spending.

Oh, the personal spending. Of course he had the best car. A Bentley Arnage, jet black, tan leather interior, GPS, bumper sensors and cameras, satellite radio, the works. Custom-made for him.

Bentley’s favorite weekend getaway was at Cayo Espanto, Belize. He loved his personal jet and his personal suite and his personal beach. His waves. His sun. His sky. Secluded.  
The socialite needed time away from people, too.  
On the island, he was alone. Except for the staff and, as always, some one-week-stand, a man, a woman, anything inbetween. As long as it was human, over 20 year old, breathing and horny, so was he, and he would fuck them twice a day for the whole week, give them seven thousand dollars (pocket change, really), and go back to his oversized home with tall glass windows and a giant bed with silk high thread-count sheets and his garage for his three Bentleys and a wraparound workbench.  
   
His dream had come true, and his father was more than proud of him. Returning home was always a pleasure, even though only one of his three siblings seemed to like him; his dear sister Wendy Lecter. Blonde, sky-blue eyes, perfect body, and probably the most mischievous of the four Lecter children. She knew exactly how to speak to a man to get him on his knees for her in guilt or love. Being the only girl in the house, it was a necessity for her to learn how to make a man cry or gush over her.  
 Bentley had no problem with gushing over her and did not need Wendy’s practiced-and-perfected persuasion to do what she wanted. She was his favorite, and he spent thousands on her. Jewelry, a car, food, you name it. The doting brother loved to spoil his only sister, he almost needed to.  
   
His two brothers, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to his wealth and willingness to buy them what they wanted or pay for what they needed.  
   
Knife was the male “jewel” of the family, as opposed to Wendy as the female, even if he didn’t think so. Knife was the youngest and the most well-read of the four. He made perfect grades, so he was already worthy of Bentley’s jealousy (language and writing were always his weakest and Knife seemed to excel in it just to spite him).

He had dark, dark brown hair that curled slightly at the ends against his forehead and sharp cheekbones, heartbreakingly-pure, ocean-blue eyes (that you could stare for hours into if he would just let you) hidden behind thin silver-framed glasses, thick lashes, and full lips that anyone could fall for. And he was naturally pretty. His looks weren’t nearly as important as his studies.  
   
 If Knife wasn’t hovering over your shoulder and taking furious mental notes on something you were doing, he was reading anything he could get his hands on. Once he began to read, Hannibal and the sibling never asked where Knife was. They knew he was in the library, his day planned out with a variety of science and history.  
   
Knife was the very critical, quick-witted brother. Sharp, if you will. He aimed for perfection, and if you weren’t doing the same, there was something terribly wrong with you.  
And Bentley understood the need for perfection. His cars had to be perfect for his buyers. Perfection is the name of the game. He just never quite understood Knife’s insistency.  
   
Bentley loved to tease him when they were younger. He’d replace Knife’s books with blank ones and wait behind a shelf for him to cry. When Bentley was a preteen, he shoved his kid brother around to get a reaction out of him. Knife would argue and fight with him, but Bentley was always stronger and won.  
 Bentley was just generally a dick to Knife until he became a young adult, and he finally realized how cruel he had been. No amount of money would make up for that, but that didn’t keep him from offering every visit, “let’s go buy you some clothes”, “would you like a new car?”, “I could buy you a library if you want”.  
   
Saul was the second-to-youngest brother. He was tall and handsome, in a gently-rugged way. His eyes were a cool, gray-blue, and they were narrow, below thick, masculine brows. His hair was a warm, soothing brown, long enough to style or spike a little on the top. His jaw was strong and often stubbly. Saul was simply masculine. Underneath his masculinity, Saul was a haphephobic.

He developed it at an early age, and Bentley couldn’t recall what exactly started it, if it ever did suddenly start. Bentley just remembers the rejection. What kind of brother couldn’t /touch/ his brother?

He took it personally. Everyone did. Bentley was never good enough for his brothers. He had to have their approval.  
Bentley realized as an adult that as a child, he was so insulted by his rejection of touch that he bullied Knife to take out his aggression. Saul’s fear made Bentley angry.  
Poor, poor Saul. Nothing worked. Gradual touches, forced touches, sneaky touches, nothing.  
It wasn’t a common or rational fear to Bentley, and still wasn’t.  
   
When Bentley came to visit, he was only allowed two hugs. A strong, warm embrace from Hannibal and a gentle, soothing hug from Wendy.

 Knife wouldn’t have it, he’d just cross his arms and look at him with a “fuck, I hate you so much and I hope you know it” glare , but Saul would give him a small wave, a soft “Hey, Bentley..”, his eyes always something mixed between “I hate you” and “I hate whatever this is” and “sorry”.  
   
Bentley would offer him the same things every time. “How about some new clothes? Some new flannel? There’s sawdust in all of your old shirts and pants”, “How would you like a crate of sketchbooks? Just tell me what weight you want”, but he was always met with a “Nah, nah, it’s okay..”  
Bentley would buy him a few sketchbooks anyway, along with a loaded Visa for clothes and whatever else he wanted. He’d slip his gifts under Saul’s pillow and leave quickly after dinner with everyone. Loaded Visas for everyone, even Hannibal. The usual visit.  
   
He wasn’t the best brother, or the best lover, or the best CEO.  
   
Somehow, Bentley managed to piss off almost every single one of his workers. They didn’t like that he came downstairs to “check up on his building” and “make sure everything was running correctly” and “What have I told you about using pecan instead of chestnut polish!?” and “Can’t have you plotting behind my back”. They didn't like that he was using their bonuses for extravagant vacations and gifts and parties.  
He was stealing their money. He knew he was, but he didn't think they'd notice or mind if he did.

He mocked them without saying a word. Took their money and smiled and spent it on sex, booze, cars, and pointless parties.

Those narrow eyes infused with sunlight burned into them. Set them on fire. Started a blaze.

Many left simply because they were fearful of working under him, afraid of the slightest mistake being blamed on them, even if it was the computer’s fault, resulting in more deductions in their pay.

The others publicly defied him and he fired them before they could quit or go after him or his family.

Employees dropped left and right, and with their skills, they could go anywhere. The losses forced Bentley to become CFO as well in junction with a few Office Managers that could not leave for anything better, as much as they wanted to.

Bentley had to raise the prices for everything. He lost customers. Rolls-Royce taunted him. People personally hated him and made threats to bring him to court unless they were properly paid.

But he had no income.

What money he had left, he paid the people of the highest threat, his credit cards, building and factory bills, and his last employees.

That left him with $1, 500.

With personal bills, he had $1, 500 left.

His stocks plummeted.

He had only been open for a year and he was bankrupt.

Living the dream.


End file.
